


Dream Boys

by Beltenebra



Category: Arashi (Band), Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band), Kanjani8 (Band), NewS (Band)
Genre: Gen, Psychological Horror, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7126504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beltenebra/pseuds/Beltenebra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arashi is widely held to be the country’s ideal idol group. But what is the cost of perfection?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Boys

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for je_squickfic 2013. This idea just grabbed me and wouldn't let go. I wanted to write something really nasty and insidious.

He couldn't have picked a more ideal time. It had to be Countdown. The actual performance was out – he didn't want to involve any of the fans, and the rehearsals were scattered between half a dozen different venues. But the initial planning meeting was held in the main offices and almost everyone was required to attend. It was the only way to be sure – he had to be thorough.

He had done kind of a half-assed job covering his tracks when he obtained the guns but it didn't matter anymore. There would be plenty of time for the world to wonder about why Arashi's Ninomiya suddenly needed a cache of illegal weapons.

He parked his car in the underground garage and dragged the duffel bag out of the back seat. It was heavy. He hadn't expected that. Of course he had only ever handled prop guns before. Even filming in America they didn't use anything like real weapons. The real ones were fucking heavy. He figured it was fitting – something with the power to end a life in a moment _should_ be heavy.

He looked down at the open bag for a moment, one finger gently caressing a trigger – willing himself not to throw up. This had to happen. It had to be today. It's a good thing he was such a good actor. He strolled past security like any other day, like his bag was sitting as lightly on his shoulder as it always did – only containing some tea, his DS, iPod; the detritus of a normal life – nothing to see here, folks.

The first person Nino came across was Kame. He was already gripping one of the handguns, it was a simple, fluid movement to pull it out of the bag and aim at Kame's chest. Fucking hell, it would have to be Kame first. He liked Kame.

Well. He thought he did – used to anyway.

Before Kame would have laughed at him, assumed it was one of Nino's infamous pranks – everyone in the company was getting paintballed today. He might have made a joke about being the first unfortunate victim – made a passionate speech about not going down without a fight. But now Kame just blinked, his polite surprise edging into discomfort.

"Ninomiya-san?"

He wanted to call it off, to crack a smile and throw an arm around Kame's shoulders like he used to.

"Not exactly, no. And you're not really Kame-chan, are you."

He didn't give Kame a chance to react – it didn't matter what he said and Nino wasn't sure he could bear to hear it anyway. He raised the gun; there was no going back now. He wasn't exactly sorry, so he didn't apologize.

He squeezed the trigger, only staggering a little with the kick. All of those first person shooters paid off – perfect head shot. He didn't stop to think, just cocked the gun and moved on.

* * *

The polyphonic chime of his phone nearly blended right in with the sounds from the Playstation. He was a little surprised when he checked it – Sho didn't usually mail him back so promptly these days. Too bad the message was disappointing.

_'Sorry, Nino. You know I don't really have time to meet up with co-workers outside of work. But I'll see you at the meeting tomorrow. Have a good night.'_

_Sho_

Nino scowled at the perfectly polite message. 'Sure, Sho. I know you're busy.' It wasn't like Nino himself wasn't just as busy – he just finished promoting a movie. And what was with the co-workers bullshit. Of course they _were_ co-workers but they were also Arashi. And he and Sho had been real friends since the beginning, before the beginning. Not that you could tell these days.

He knew every group in Johnnys was different, they had their own methods of dealing with impossible schedules, difficult bandmates, and incredibly restrictive rules. Arashi had always been close; they talked about their plans for the future, their hopes, fears, and frustrations - all of that fuzzy feelings crap. Of course things were going to change, they were all settling into more independent, adult patterns but he didn't think he would ever get to the point where Sho was brushing him off as just another co-worker.

He would have mailed Jun bitching about it but Jun hadn't answered the last couple of personal mails Nino sent. And like the emotional coward he was he didn't want to confront Jun about it in case the cause really was 'I just don't want to talk to you anymore'. Nino was much more comfortable believing it was a bug in Jun's phonemail system or something.

To add insult to injury, Aiba bounded into work the next day, all smiles, and blew off the plans they had made last week.

"Sorry, Nino. My manager said they added something to my schedule tonight."

He frowned but it was hard to be really _angry_ at Aiba. And they all knew what last-minute schedule changes were like. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to bitch. It was just dinner, but he had been looking forward to it.

"What could possibly be more important than dinner with me?"

Aiba shrugged apologetically. "Some kind of aesthetic treatment. There's this spa kind of place. Le Rave? La Rose? La... something with an 'r' anyway. I think it's French."

"Like you need spa treatments," Nino scoffed.

"Awwww, thanks, Nino! I think you look great too. But, you know, I don't think it's optional. I'm free tomorrow night though."

* * *

It wasn't though.

Aiba showed up for the photoshoot at precisely the right time. He came in quietly, stowing his bag and nodding a brief greeting to the other members before they went into wardrobe. His habitual energy and cheer was noticeably absent. Every other time Nino had been in the makeup chair next to Aiba he couldn't get him to shut up. Aiba had a habit of bombarding the nearest friend with a stream of consciousness-style monologue. In the privacy of his head Nino thought of them as updates in the 'Wonderful World of Aibaland'. They were alternately kind of amusing and annoying as hell depending on Nino's mood.

Today Aiba was quiet – nearly silent. He responded briefly and politely to any questions the stylist posed him but didn't follow up with his own questions like he usually did. He barely glanced over at Nino, let alone engaged him in conversation.

It was really odd. But hey, it was only six am. Even Aiba must have quiet mornings sometimes.

"How was your spa treatment? Are you relaxed now?"

Aiba blinked for a moment in confusion before his expression cleared. "Oh yeah. Sure, I guess? It was fine."

And for the next thirty minutes he didn't say anything else. They moved through makeup and hair and wardrobe with minimal communication. The day passed in a blur, with Nino trying not to be obvious about scrutinizing his friend's actions. Aiba left as soon as they were cut loose – no mentions of dinner, just a vague wave on his way out the door.

Everyone had off days. It was probably nothing.

Over the next few days Aiba seemed to get a little energy back but the changes in his manner were still obvious. Nino couldn't believe he was the only one seeing this.

Jun and Sho had both waved his concerns off, 'maybe he has a lot on his mind' or 'he could have some kind of bug, he's probably saving his energy for work'. But the last straw came at the beginning of the second week of Aiba weirdness. Nino pulled into a spot in the garage right next to Aiba who was just getting out of his car.

They nodded hello and Nino ran a hand over the long, vicious scratch that ran nearly the whole length of Aiba's front right quarter panel. "He still hasn't paid out for repairs? You should hire some thugs and have Jun-kun kneecapped."

Aiba never missed an opportunity to gripe about the damage Jun had done to his precious car. It had been years ago, Jun misjudged the distance going through a tollgate and scraped Aiba's car. He always said he would get it fixed but never did. Aiba loved complaining about it – Nino personally thought he had never pressed Jun for the repairs just so he could still bitch about it.

Any other time Aiba would have grinned, probably giggled a bit and banter with Nino about his yakuza connections and ask if Nino could get him some names. Today Aiba blinked twice and smiled wanly. "Oh yeah. Guess I should get that fixed at some point."

Nino spent every scrap of his free time that day scouring the internet, trying to find the place Aiba went to for that treatment. Given only a vague location and even less concrete information about the name it was unsurprisingly fruitless. He resorted to asking Aiba's manager who told him politely that 'of course he would look into it and e-mail the information,' which was a nice, polite manager way of saying 'please leave me alone'.

He knew it he was overreacting but he was worried about Aiba. He missed his friend's normal cheer. And no one else would admit that anything was wrong. It couldn't possibly just be him noticing this. Maybe he was worried about both of them.

It made him feel like a stalker but if observing Aiba in his free time would give him more information then he would just have to deal. He waited for Aiba to leave for the day and followed him at a discreet distance. Luckily it was late so there wasn't an unmanageable amount of traffic.

Nino had been to Aiba's place a few times, even fairly recently, so he figured out pretty quickly that Aiba was going home. When Aiba turned into the underground parking structure, Nino parked in a lot across the street. He knew Aiba lived on the sixth floor, in an apartment facing the street side of the building. All he had to do was get higher. He was standing in front of a different apartment building with what looked like roof deck that would suit his purpose perfectly. Now he just needed to get past security.

He felt like he was in a drama as he stood outside of the building – head bent over his phone – waiting for someone who needed to come in. He only had to wait a few minutes before an older lady, hands full of shopping bags, stepped out of a taxi and flounced into the lobby. He kept his head down and walked through after she let herself in. The trick was to act like you belonged there. If he happened to get caught his plan was to blame it all on a TV stunt. They did crazy shit all the time – Arashi surveillance would certainly not be the strangest thing he'd done for work.

Once he was in, it was easy to find the staircase up to the roof. He propped the door open with a packet of tissues from his bag, having no way of knowing if it locked automatically. Scratch the drama – he felt like he was in an action movie as he hunkered down and raised binoculars to his face. He had a perfect angle through the balcony door into Aiba's living room.

Aiba was just sitting on the sofa, eating dinner. A perfectly normal, domestic scene except for a few small details. He was facing the TV but the power was off. Aiba didn't usually like silence in his apartment, in Nino's experience he usually turned on the TV for background noise when he got in. He could be listening to music, of course. But that didn't explain the lights. There was enough ambient light for Nino to see inside but no lights were on in the living room. Who would just sit around in the dark?

After he finished eating, Aiba put the dish in the kitchen, returned to the couch, and sat. And sat. And did nothing else. For the next three hours he sat on the sofa in the dark, staring at the blank TV screen. Or maybe the wall above it. Nino knew he was awake because sometimes he blinked. When Nino checked his watch it was past four. And he was more than a little unnerved.

A few years ago, when K-pop groups had first hit Tokyo in a major way, they were completely unavoidable – they were on all of the same music programs and variety shows. He and Sho had been standing off stage on some music show and watching a sleek pack of Korean guys run through their dance routine. They moved perfectly in sync, not a single gesture was off the beat or out of place. The number ran like a perfectly oiled machine.

"I've heard they practice like ten hours a day."

Sho pulled a face, presumably at the outrageous thought of any idol having ten hours to devote to any one activity. "Maybe they're androids. Just program the dance routine in and let them go. Perfect every time, no practice necessary."

He had laughed at the time – why not? The thought of all of those screaming girls chasing after a sophisticated marionette. Imagining their faces when one of the slick, handsome men popped open his chest to reveal cogs and gears.

The memory hit him full force, an icy chill racing down his spine.

But that was impossible. He saw these people every day. He _touched_ them. He knew they were flesh and blood. Still, the insidious voice in his head pointed out, the routines have been coming more easily. Because they were getting better at our jobs! Everyone improved after years of honing their craft. He viciously pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. He needed sleep, everything seemed more sinister in the middle of the night, especially when you were dead tired.

It was possible that there was a good explanation for everything but he wasn't ready to let it go yet. He needed more information. Nino wound his car through the pre-dawn streets and tried to believe that the shivering was only because of the cold.

* * *

He spent the next few weeks watching – quietly observing his co-workers and stockpiling small tidbits of information, secreting them away like contraband in a mental file that might as well be named 'growing unease'. Taken alone, none of the incidents would set off his weird shit alarm – Jun taking a minute too long to pick up a reference from his favorite manga and then being vague in his response, Sho's transition from stony 'off' to slightly manic 'on' being just a little too sharply defined, an off-hand comment from one of the managers about the lack of 'Ohno sleeping on set' problems recently, Aiba lacking his usual vibrance. But his brain wouldn't let him stop picking up the pieces and slotting them into place. Drugs? Blackmail? The picture that was forming was disconcerting but still hazy.

What he needed was tangible proof. It was fairly simple to swipe one of their managers' phones when he was talking to some staff and send an e-mail to the rest of their management team. Just a little adjustment of their call time for tomorrow. Years of pranks made it child's play for him to set up a hidden camera in their meeting room and it wasn't too difficult to stream the footage up to his phone.

The four of them arrived within a minute or two of the "official" meeting time. They were all incredibly punctual now. They were professionals, of course, it's not that they had always been horribly late before but things come up, schedules run behind. But he'd noticed that recently that had stopped. Ohno arrived first and plopped himself on the couch, zoning out immediately. That wasn't out of character at all – Ohno had taken every spare moment to check out of reality for as long as Nino had known him. But usually the rest of them forced him back to earth. Sho walked in next and didn't even nod to acknowledge Ohno's presence. Usually Sho reached for a paper when he had a few minutes but he didn't make any move towards his bag. Jun was next – down went his bag and out came his phone. Nino breathed a quick sigh of relief until a full minute passed without Jun actually using the phone. It sat dark in Jun's loose grip. Normally he bitched about Jun's obsessive scrolling, social networking, and over-sharing of Twitter news but now its absence was upsetting. Aiba was last, only a minute behind Jun and like the others he didn't call out any friendly greeting or acknowledge any other presence in the room. He just sat down and waited. Just like the other night.

Nino let the camera record for as long as he could physically stand it, only about seven minutes. He approached the closed door and, keeping an eye on his phone, made sure to be as noisy as possible. He turned his DS on at full volume and banged his bag around.

It was like a horror movie in reverse. Instead of walking into an empty room and catching movement out of the corner of your eye everything burst from stillness into action all of a sudden – into _normalcy_. He walked into what anyone would assume was a standard morning routine. Sho was thumbing through a paper, Jun was leaning over - showing Aiba something on his phone. Ohno was still quiet but now he had his eyes closed – a faint snore rumbling in his chest. A few weeks ago Nino wouldn't have blinked at a scene like this. It was comfortable, soothing in its familiarity. He dropped his bag and fled to the bathroom. He felt sick.

* * *

Now that he had seen it, he couldn't un-see it. The next few weeks of work passed in a blur – Nino's brain working overtime cataloging every small detail of his interactions with his co-workers. He was about ninety percent sure that Arashi wasn't the only group that had undergone this... whatever the hell it was. He still wasn't quite ready for the grand unified theory of crazy yet. Not yet, but soon.

Nino had been on the lookout for someone else in the company who he could be sure was uncompromised. It was difficult, he wasn't close with everyone and even people he used to be close to may have changed in the intervening years. His scientific process was iffy at best but his intuition told him that Taguchi might be a good place to start.

It was a shot in the dark. A shot taken by a man who was also masked and deafened, wearing gloves and shooting with the gun pointed back over his shoulder. But he was cautious about his approach. He tailed Taguchi on a random schedule over the course of a few weeks. He was careful to use different vehicles and keep his distance.

He watched Taguchi meet his not-so-secret girlfriend for a shopping date in Koenji, observed as he slouched his way into an out-of-the-way billiards bar (three times in as many weeks), noted that sometimes he just went home like any normal person with a tiring job. Taguchi didn't seem like a soulless automaton when he was browsing racks of vintage clothing, far from it if his girlfriend's easy affection was any indication.

The fourth time Nino followed Taguchi to the billiards place he decided it was time. When Taguchi loped out of the bar two hours later he still hadn’t decided exactly what to say.

"Taguchi-kun."

Taguchi regarded him curiously. He didn't seem surprised to see someone he knew but Nino supposed most idols got used to being highly visible. "Ninomiya-kun. Are you here to play pool?"

"No, I was hoping to talk to you about something."

Taguchi raised an eyebrow. "Something work-related?"

Nino tried to keep his expression neutral. "Something I can't talk about in a parking lot. We're going to need beer."

He was definitely intrigued but Nino was incredibly relieved that he didn't push. "Ok. Well, I know a place right around the corner. It's cheap and inconspicuous." Lucky for him Taguchi really was the easy-going type.

Taguchi watched patiently as Nino ordered two beers, downed his in a few long swallows, and ordered another two. He picked up his first glass and took a sip, pushing both of the new ones to Nino's side of the scarred wooden table. "You seem like you need this a little more than me."

Nino drank the next beer and figured he had to start somewhere. "Have you noticed anything strange about our co-workers recently?"

"Depends on exactly what you're talking about." Junno's expressive mouth twitched up in a grin. "If you're asking about two days ago when Nagase tore out of second floor meeting room with his pants on fire and Taichi chasing him waving a bottle of seltzer, I'm afraid that's what passes for normal in our line of work."

He hadn't been in the building at the time, but he'd heard about it from one of the ADs. He used to hear stories like that from Aiba, Aiba always seemed to know what the latest gossip was. Used to anyway. "More long term. Like, people suddenly acting differently... not like themselves." He kept his gaze down, on his hands twisting themselves into nervous knots on the table.

Nino had prepared himself for a few different reactions – Taguchi would give him a pitying look and make some comments about the stress getting to him, Taguchi would be suspicious and ask him if this was one of his pranks, and the best case scenario, Taguchi would lean forward and dart his eyes back over his shoulder, checking for prying eyes before confessing that he had also noticed something amiss.

The last thing he expected was Taguchi taking a swig of beer and sitting back with a relaxed smile. "I was wondering if anyone else would ever pick up on that."

His voice came out in a near-shriek. "What?!"

"You're talking about the pod person thing, right? Co-workers seemingly replaced with automatons designed to mimic their personality only when they're interacting with people?"

Nino jerked his head up to stare hard at Taguchi. The other man radiated absolute honesty. "You already know about it."

"Well, yeah. I noticed a while ago, thought it was strange – definitely worth looking into. It's straight out of a sci-fi novel or something. They developed this technology where they can just scoop someone's personality right out."

Nino's chest was tight, he was taking short, shallow breaths – assaulted with sudden images of a body strapped to a table, the top of a head popped open like a lid, a scientist standing by with a gleaming ice cream scoop.

Taguchi went blithely on, "Only you know, they need to put something back so they program exactly what they want to take its place. Of course in this case they want it to be as close to the original as possible. But without any small imperfections, annoyances, things that make a person potentially difficult.

"How the fuck did you find all of that out?"

"Oh, I broke into the offices and read a bunch of emails. They don't keep the actual files there though, they probably have them at the clinic."

His mind was reeling, his emotions bouncing from horror to incredulity to disgust and back again – they couldn't seem to settle on one. "I'm almost afraid to ask but..."

Taguchi leaned forward with a small conspiratorial smile. "Who they got to, right? How widespread it is?"

Nino could only manage a small, tight nod in response.

"Hey Say Jump, SMAP, V6 of course – look at how well they still move for their age, KAT-TUN, most of your group, I would imagine. And I think they're about halfway through Kisumai at this point." All of this was rattled off like the man was reading his buddy the sports report – interest mingled with mild amusement.

"Wait a second, your own group was on that list."

"Yes?" Taguchi seemed genuinely puzzled.

"Where does that leave you?"

"Oh, they never did me. They probably wanted to – the girlfriend thing – but I never gave them any other problems. And I think my jokes made it tricky."

"Why would jokes make a difference?"

"Some personality traits are more difficult to simulate. A sense of humor, especially advanced humor," Taguchi smirked, "is impossible for the program to spontaneously produce. Someone would definitely notice if I stopped making puns. I think that's what saved most of Kanjani8 too."

Nino grimaced, " _Most_ of them?" Who would it be... Yokoyama maybe? Ohkura? He only had a vague impression of lazy and laconic, he wasn't sure what Ohkura's personality was like to begin with.

"Yeah, they did Murakami first. I guess his kind of funny was straightforward enough. Slapstick is easy for anyone." Taguchi's eyes sparkled, inviting Nino to share the joke. "Get it? _Slap_ stick? No? Ok."

"What happened with Murakami? Why not the rest of them?"

"Well like I said, I can't be _sure_. I didn't have any official records, just a lot of communications. But it was the music. Music is even more complicated than humor-"

Nino felt his eyes go wide. "-and everyone knows that Kanjani8 writes and plays their own music."

"Exactly. Murakami's parts are easy, simple chords don't require a lot of creativity but they couldn't risk the rest of the group."

The next thought slammed into this skull like a bullet. 'I'm the only one of us who writes his own music.' The small surge of relief was immediately followed by a sickening wave of disgust. With himself, with whoever coaxed this idea out of the realm of horror movies to use on real people, with Taguchi who could spin such tales with his smile firmly in place.

When he finally found his voice again, it came out hard and flat. "How can you be so blasé about this? I mean, they-" How would he even describe this? Killed? Brainwashed? Processed? "They got your own group. That's ok with you?"

Taguchi regarded him thoughtfully. "Well it is fucking creepy, the robot people thing, but we were never really close in KAT-TUN and I can't deny that it makes work go more smoothly. Besides," Taguchi's frown sharpened into genuine curiosity, "what can we possibly do about it?"

It was a good question. One Nino had no answer to. "I need to find those files."

"I don't think it's a good idea, Ninomiya-kun."

"I'm pretty far past giving a fuck about good ideas." He let the seconds tick past, the silence lengthening between them. He thought about Taguchi sitting in a van with KAT-TUN, bantering on variety shows, on stage in the Tokyo Dome - _knowing_ that his bandmates were some kind of golems. He wondered what qualified a person as a sociopath - he wondered if finding out had driven Taguchi around the bend or if he had been like that all along.

Finally Taguchi shrugged in an age old gesture of a person washing one's hands of a situation. "I have an address."

* * *

He considered and rejected half a dozen plans before deciding it would be best just to show up. The less elaborate his idea, the less that could go wrong. That was the idea anyway. He picked a quiet weekday morning and strolled into the clinic like it was any aesthetics facility in Tokyo and not a shadowy mystery building that had haunted his sleep for weeks.

Le Reve had a beautifully appointed lobby, all soothing creams and plush carpets. He strolled up to the reception desk and gave the pretty girl in a starched white uniform a tight, forced smile.

"Ninomiya Kazunari, checking in."

Her smile was equally fake – a precise, bland upturn of lips. She scanned the computer and the smile was immediately replaced by confusion. "I'm sorry, Ninomiya-sama. We don't seem to have you scheduled for any treatments today."

He lowered his sunglasses a fraction and scowled. "My manager told me to come as soon as possible. Practically shoved me in the car." He let his next comment trail off into a grumble, almost like he was talking to himself. "No clue how a fancy spa treatment is supposed to change my mind about quitting but what the hell – not like I'm paying for it."

Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "Certainly, Ninomiya-sama. Please wait just a moment and I'll start making the arrangements." She disappeared into a back room but if he strained his ears over the soft musical trickle of the fountain in the lobby he could hear parts of her agitated exchange with another staff member.

"-didn't give us any warning!"

"Apparently it's an emergency. A big one. …..some things prepared, don't we?"

"...not ideal conditions but.... maybe within an hour."

Her smile was serene when she returned. "We'll make all of the arrangements now. Please follow me to a waiting room."

The hall wound back into the building. The simple directory next to the elevator doors indicated that the basement through third floors were various spa facilities and the fourth floor housed the maintenance center and offices. He would start there.

The woman left him in a small, comfortable waiting room indicating the couch and refreshments and telling him to make himself comfortable. He counted off two minutes before he opened the door to check the hallway for traffic. He slipped quietly out of the room and made his way down the hall to what seemed to be an emergency stairwell. He figured if he got stopped he would claim he was looking for the bathroom.

Luck was with him, there was no one in the hallway or on the stairs. When he reached the fourth floor he eased the door open slowly, taking care to be as quiet as possible. The stairs let out into what was clearly one of the maintenance rooms. It was stocked with cleaning supplies, stacks of fluffy white towels almost reaching the ceiling. He snagged a towel on his way through, it might come in handy.

A short hallway separated the maintenance room from another room with an electronic lock. Nino was willing to bet that was the place he wanted. He stepped back and pulled the door almost completely closed, he just needed to wait for someone with a key card.

It was only about ten minutes before a slight man in a crisp, white shirt and slacks that screamed 'office worker' trudged up to the office door. Nino struck quickly, like a snake. As soon as the man's back was to him he darted out and wrapped the towel around the man's head, pulling it as tight as possible around his nose and mouth. He threw his other arm around the man's neck and squeezed. In less than a minute the man went limp in his hold. After patting the man down and taking the small key ring clipped to his belt, he knotted the towel around the man's head and dragged him into one of the maintenance closets.

The key card worked its magic – the lock blinking green and allowing his entrance to the offices. It was an open room like so many Japanese offices – desks grouped in twos or fours, filing cabinets along the walls. It seemed to be deserted but it probably wouldn't stay that way for long.

It was ridiculously easy to find what he was looking for. There weren't very many filing cabinets and they were only protected by a single key lock. Nino guessed the people in charge were mostly relying on the fact that anyone coming into the facility with questions certainly wouldn't be leaving with them intact to protect them.

He eased open the first drawer. It seemed to be files pertaining to Shounentai up through Hikaru Genji. He glanced up at the clock, he had maybe twenty-five minutes before they would be looking for them. He opened the first file and got to work.

He barely remembered getting out of the building. Somehow he had managed to slip back out of the office area without encountering any other staff. He stalked down the halls from the direction of his waiting room and growled something at the panicking receptionist about a sudden schedule change – ignoring her protests and threw himself into the waiting cab.

His mind was consumed with what he had seen.

It was all there – individual files with detailed records about the reasons for each treatment, the date they were done, any complications, everything.

In the beginning while they had still been perfecting the process there were some mistakes and unexpected side effects. Kusanagi apparently still suffered from attacks of extreme disorientation and emotional outbursts. He guessed that explained the ‘naked in the park’ incident pretty well. KAT-TUN's Tanaka was required to come in on a regular basis for diagnostic checks. They were worried that his mind continually attempted to override the programming. There was a note from the doctor warning the company that they might have to cut him loose permanently.

But most of the time it worked perfectly. Aiba's was the latest procedure. The doctor's comments indicated that he felt it was the most successful to date, seamless and utterly irreversible. Nino blinked back sudden tears. They were gone and they were never coming back. But now was neither the time or place. He had bitten his lip hard, the coppery tang of blood flooding his tongue, the sharp pain forcing him to focus.

He had torn through the files as quickly as possible, he needed to know how far it had spread, exactly who had gone under. He was almost done, he'd gotten most of the information he was looking for when he found it. Each group seemed to have their own section, the records in Arashi's section confirmed all of his darkest suspicions. Ohno had been gone much longer than he expected but he had been more or less on the money with the others.

He had been running out of time. They would be back to get him soon. But there was one more thing. He had lifted the last file in the drawer with shaking hands. It was tabbed with red: Ninomiya Kazunari: 'INCOMPLETE'.

* * *

He had to move quickly. It wouldn't do for someone to call the authorities before he was finished.

His shoes were slick with blood but he had gotten the hang of moving quickly without slipping. He pushed the clammy feeling of his fluid-splattered jeans sticking to his skin to the back of his mind. It could keep company the sound of panicked screams and desperate pleas for mercy, both savagely and quickly silenced.

There was no need to spare employees. The conspiracy was vast and wide and there was no way to know how far it had spread. The body was diseased – it would take more than just a tourniquet to save it. 

The guns were absurdly loud in the echoing room, the burst of shots interspersed with truncated screams. Movies definitely didn't prepare you for the noise, each shot a small explosion in his hand. Nino had chosen well, most of his intended targets were here.

The main meeting room was an abattoir – he had taken out most of the staff with a spray from his automatic as soon as he stepped through the door. Curiously few people had tried to run, most of them cowered or froze in their confusion. It was laughably easy to stride through the room, cherry-picking his targets. He left Eito, save Murakami though he wasn't sure if it was mercy. Nishikido hadn't been the most stable person before. Nino dimly registered his friend's dark eyes blank with shock – staring unblinking at the crimson stain spreading from Jun's head. There was no way to tell how long he'd last after this.

He considered killing Taguchi along with the rest of KAT-TUN, the man was clearly deranged. But psychotic or not, he had seen the file, he knew that Taguchi had never been sent to the facility. And there was the girlfriend. In the end Nino spared Taguchi for her, ignoring the perfect target his fleeing back made.

Arashi was the hardest, of course. Jun had gone down quickly and Ohno had just stared at him – one long second before he blinked and Nino took his shot. Aiba had scrabbled backward, face contorted in disbelief, his left hand slipping in a pool of gore. He had begged in that lovely, breathy voice – he sounded so sincere that Nino almost hesitated. He shot him in the throat, silencing him and sparing his pretty face.

Sho was one of the last. Nino's arms ached from the heavy weight, his hands hurt from gripping the handles too hard. He longed to put the guns down, to be finished. It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes since he started; but trauma turned time to taffy, stretching and pulling – slowing everything down. Sho didn't seem angry or panicked, just quiet.

"Nino, are you sure you want to do this?"

"I know too much, Sho-chan. I have to finish it."

He didn't think they were supposed to be aware of what had happened to them but Sho just nodded once, seemingly resigned. The wound bloomed against his grey shirt like a flower. Nino could swear he stepped into the bullet.

Over the low sound of broken sobbing he could hear the wail of sirens, coming up fast. It didn't really matter if he had missed one or two - the company would surely be in shambles. Hard to recover their shiny upbeat image when one of their own had turned the place into a slaughterhouse. Their girls would have to find new golden calves to worship from now on.

Nino finally let himself crumple slowly to the floor, folding himself up near Aiba's lifeless body. It felt like a lifetime ago that he was Arashi's Ninomiya, laughing with Jun on VS, poking fun at Sho, drinking with Aiba, trading ridiculous emails with Oh-chan from across the dressing room. But who knew who Arashi's Ninomiya had really been. He had been to the facility before, he didn't remember it but there were records. It was maddeningly unclear whether he had actually undergone the procedure or not but it didn't really matter. Everything had changed and there was no way to go back.

He rested the muzzle against his temple and gently squeezed the trigger - putting his doubts to rest at last.


End file.
